šø + "what do you need to move on?" ( for hyuk in arc two š„ŗ but i also know that's gonna get realll sad- feel free to skip any if all of them, alex!! and please have a wonderful day too <3 )
@ofgentleresolve ā from x.
Ā Ā Sitting on the stairs that lead to his shabby office, a bottle of clear liquor is latched to his scarred hand. He usually doesnāt drink like this, prefers to use his sorrows as fuel to catch the justice he so ardently seeks. However, there are days where he finds himself in some kind of profound, oceanic hole without an exit; struggling to climb up and feel the air that his lungs so desperately need. These moments feel like heavy bricks attached to his ankles, dragging him toward deep sea; moments where his memories hurt more than giving him any kind of solace; moments where he knows his friend is a ghost and fervently wishes he wasnāt (but thatās not going to make Patrick rise out of his grave, is it?).Ā
Ā Ā A hiccup, he tries to stand up and stumbles a little; long arm managing to get looped around the dilapidated rail. God, he hates this. Hates that the alcohol does nothing to numb the emotions bubbling within him; hates that the bottle is only making him more prone to speak about the things heās been saving up since forever; hates that he feels helpless --- hates that he misses him so much, the yearning alone could burn an entire hole in his heart; pierce it permanently.Ā
Ā Ā Stubborn as a mule, he still fights to walk down the stairs as a question echoes through. Whoās asking this? Whoās saying it? Is it his own head or is it someone who managed to see him in this shameful state? Suki is supposed to be back at his apartment to get some sleep; Jae-Hwan left about three hours ago --- there shouldnāt be anyone else around here but him and his heavy heart; him and this doltish idea of getting drunk. Feet get dragged on the last block of stairs and when he lets go of the rail, he has to lean in and support himself on the dirty windowsill. Fingers dig into the stained wood; a hand leaving the bottle on the windowās stool.Ā
Ā Ā What do you need to move on? Can he even do it? Move on from losing someone he knew and loved for years? Move on from the lack of justice his best friend was given? Move on from experiencing misery that seems to portray an immense valley with drained flowers and vicious tentacles that keep extending themselves? Will there be a day where he doesnāt feel like this? Where he doesnāt latch onto a specific file that heās re-read a thousand times; where he doesnāt stare with ache at the Lily of the Valley sitting near his desk, where he doesnāt graze the tattoo engraved inside his wrist with a close-lipped simper that wishes to break into tears.Ā
Ā Ā There he goes again, trembling fingers pulling his sleeve down, if only to see the permanent drawing sitting on his skin --- an ode to him; an important piece he will always carry with him.Ā
Ā Ā Until the end, and then a little more.
Ā Ā āMaybe...a new...a new heart or...a new brain, I--I donāt know.āĀ
Ā Ā He has to, one day, right? One day. He knows Patrick wouldnāt like him to sink like this --- he was always his anchor, the one who cheered him on. But itās just...tough. Even after all these years. Losing him wasnāt easy and so, moving on isnāt easy, either.Ā
Ā Ā āSometimes Iām...waiting to wake up from a long nightmare. Hoping that...itās just that, all of this. A nightmare. But itās real, itās all real---āĀ
Ā Ā Even if his head sometimes plays tricks on him, heās aware of this sour, stinging reality. His jaw clenches; hand brusquely moving to let the bottle drop onto the floor. It shatters into humid pieces, staining the floor. He breathes through his nose; closes his eyes.Ā
Ā Ā āThe people who did this to him...they need to pay. They need to get what they truly deserve. And I...I wonāt rest until that happens. May--maybe then, Iāll be able to move on.āĀ
Ā Ā Maybe.
Ā Ā Perhaps.
Ā Ā Who knows.
